I still am ahving ahard time catching my breath. My chest still feels like someone used it for practicing a drumroll a few thousand times. I'm still weak in the knees and not in the good way. And I'm irritated.

Not trying to sound whiney, though I almost feel as if I have earned the right to be. I went back to the "vet" today for a check up on my lungs. He says they sound normal, and that he thinks the other vet I saw might have been mistaken, that it wasn't pneumonia, but asthma.

Well, huh. I found that a bitt odd considering the good Doc told me I had asthma, then sends me to a lab for pulminary asthma tests on ym lungs to which the labs came back negative for asthma. This was just a few months back. So he tells me, no, I don;t have asthma. He was adamant that he was not mistaken.

Now, I ahve asthma again??? I reminded him of the tests ebfore. And he said, "Really?" I said yes. So he gave me 2 inhalers, told me to take my pneumonia meds 'til they're gone and one wya or another, we should kick it.

Well forgive me if I'm feeling a bit let down, irritated and am losing faith in the medical community. I was damn near wishin I was dead just a couple days ago. I felt like I was suffocating. My body has taken to looking more like the Goodyear Blimp- and he says we'll get it one way or another, but isn't sure what it is we're getting?

Oh boy.

Oh boy.

Oh boy.

Last night, I was feeling a bit worse for wear. I grabbed my, "I'm sick so stay away and lemme do my thing" staples.... and I laid there thinking. Everyone has staples for when they're sick.

Almost everyone knows about chicky noodle soup... some use windex (HA!)... whatever. Someone's Momma always had something to make them feel better inside whether or not it cures what ails you.

For me, it's a few things. First and foremost, it's my woobie. But that just goes without saying. (And for those of you who don't know, my woobie is a soft blanket with satin edges all the way around. I like to fold the edges against themselves (like a taco shell) and rub them together. It's a soft feeling, and I have done that since birth... strange as it may seem) Second, it's the couch.

When we kids in ym family were little, whenever swe got sick, Dad surrendered his couch over to us and we got to lie there until we were better. I'm not sure why except maybe because we were in the middle of things and Dad could nurture us as needed. Maybe because we all loved it. We all got our attention we craved and the treasured couch.

Lastly, P, B, and J. Oh yes, folks. No chicky soup for me if I can stomach solids. Last night, I grabbed the loaf of bread, jars of PB and J, and made my way to the couch where I sucked down 3 sandwhiches during my stay there.

For me, my sickness staple, is none other, than love and comfort. Maybe it's because Dad wasn't a chicky noodle soup kind of guy. Hell, half the time he cooked, we didn't know quite what we were eating... heh. But it was usually tasty... usually.

Ack. Terrible storm brewing... lightning... haiul... gonna have to pause my entry and scoot... more latah!

Simply,

Sara